


To Bargain With The Devil

by sydnisan



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Condescension, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, classism tw, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydnisan/pseuds/sydnisan
Summary: George offers to spare Ross if Demelza will spend one night with him. She wants to save her husband. He wants to put an end to his insecurities. Takes place directly after their exchange in 2x01.





	To Bargain With The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I wanted George's characterisation to be at least somewhat plausible while also making sure the fic fulfilled my kinks. For this reason, it's Demelza I've paired him with because I can't imagine him ever behaving so cruelly towards Elizabeth. For the sake of character, there are also some classist overtones in this fic because it's the only way I could see this scenario plausibly happening. I want to clarify that I do not endorse George's views in this fic.

That was it then, her last chance of saving Ross gone. Her husband would die, and she would be left alone in this world all because of a few choice words from George Warleggan, and now he had the audacity to walk right past her without even a glance. It would be one thing if he was smug – that at least would show that he understood the gravity of her situation, the misery he was causing, but all he did was nod as he stepped through the doorway, as if they were two ordinary acquaintances.

Fury bubbled up in her chest. “Why do you hate him? What has he ever done to deserve it?”

George turned around, slowly, as he considered his response. Everything about him radiated calm – his red coat was spotless, his caramel hair perfectly curled, and his eyes gave no indication of the joy she thought he must be feeling, or did he really not care at all? Maybe he never even hated Ross, and all the misery he had caused in their lives had simply been a series of whims.

“I doubt you’d understand,” he said with the tiniest hint of a disbelieving smile and a natural condescension dripping off his words. It infuriated her.

“Because I am not so well bred as you?” She took a step forward. “I am a miner’s daughter, but you are a blacksmith’s grandson. What is the difference?”

She’d gotten to him this time. Finally that calm had been replaced by anger, the kind of anger that only came when one was trying desperately to mask a deep wound.

“The difference,” he spat, his face so close to hers that she could see the flecks of grey in his eyes, “is that you will always be a miner’s daughter, whereas _I_ am a gentleman.”

 _Ha_ , she thought, _as if a gentleman would have a man put to death on trumped up charges_ , but she had to admit that his judgement of her had some truth in it. Ross had done his best to help her fit into his world, the world of the Poldarks, but she knew she would never possess that easy nobility that they did; she would always be other.

“I am a gentleman’s wife,” she countered weakly.

“Soon to be a gentleman’s widow.”

The two stared at one another, hatred and hurt radiating from their eyes. They both knew George had won, but for some reason he seemed unsatisfied. He looked her up and down quickly, perhaps feeling awkward about his anger or about how they’d argued in such a public place, though it was unlikely that anybody had overheard them, yet when their eyes met once more there was still hate behind them, hate... and something else she could not quite identify.

“I am not without mercy, however.” He raised his chin so that he was looking down at her. Typical of him to strive for such illusions of power, but Demelza’s interest was piqued, nonetheless. Whatever George wanted from her couldn’t be good, but if it would save Ross… well surely anything was worth that price. She would give her life to save him, and whatever George wanted couldn’t be as dramatic as that.

“I will spare Ross’ life on one condition.” He paused unnecessarily. “Give yourself to me.”

Demelza was shocked, too shocked even to outright refuse him as she should have done. Unfortunately, he took this as an invitation to continue. “I require only one night of you. I have no interest in having a scullery maid as a mistress, I can assure you.”

She felt her cheeks burning. How could he ask this in public? How could he ask it and not be embarrassed? How could he ask it at all? As if she would say yes!

Her mouth opened and closed against her will as she struggled to find the words. “N-no! Why? Why would you even want…?”

“No?” he asked, ignoring her other question. “So you would send your own husband to his death to preserve your honour?” He raised his eyebrows, an incredulous chuckle escaping him. With a curt nod, he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

He looked back at her, his thin lips curved into a knowing smirk that she detested. How dare he! Earlier she had hoped for him to be smug, to care somewhat, but now that he was, she thought maybe she preferred his lack of emotion after all.

Forcing the anger down, she took a deep breath. _I mustn’t think about my own feelings – it’s Ross’ fate that really matters here_. “I’ll do it, but only on the condition that Ross never know.”

He exhaled in amusement and raised his eyebrows. “I hardly think you’re in a position to be making demands.”

God damn him, he was right. She looked at the floor, hoping that some quick retort would come to mind, but nothing did. That was probably for the best. Much as George’s offer galled her, she would never forgive herself if he rescinded it because of her actions. She started to bring her eyes back up, but her gaze rested instead on George’s breeches and the bulging outline that she could just spy through the moleskin breeches. In a panic she looked up at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed where she was looking, but a glance at his renewed smirk told her otherwise.

“Come,” he said, linking arms with her.

“Wait,” she hissed. “Will this not look suspicious? People will talk.”

The last thing she wanted was for this to be common knowledge, but he only looked at her like she was stupid. “As if any of these people care enough about you enough to gossip. You’re nothing to them.”

Her eyes swept the room, and she was saddened to find that he was right. Ray Penvenen, whom she’d come to view as a friend, was busy occupied in conversation with a group of gentlemen. He’d probably forgotten all about her plight.

George gave a forceful tug and began to stride towards the door, nodding at a few acquaintances as he pulled Demelza along with him. Outside, the city was alive with noise. Drunk men sang outside the tavern, while keen gentlefolk continued canvassing for their candidates, and harlots tried with varying success to lure them from their work.

A few paces down the street waited George’s carriage, black with the Warleggan emblem splashed in gold across the sides. His hand felt warm across her lower back as he helped her to climb in first. If this were any other situation and any other man, she might have enjoyed his touch on such a cold evening.

After he climbed in beside her, the coachman gave a crack of his whip and they were off, jolting along the streets of Bodmin to George’s lodgings, while Demelza sat rigid in her seat. Her hands were balled into fists at the sides of her red printed dress, her face pale, her gaze pointedly fixed on the empty seat opposite her so that she couldn’t see him. A tight knot was beginning to form in her stomach. Was she making a mistake? No, no, she was doing this for Ross. She was doing the right thing.

“I want to make something clear,” he said suddenly. “Don’t fake pleasure – I’ll know. Don’t even fake indifference. I want to know what you’re feeling and thinking, no matter how hostile.”

Her brows furrowed, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Why?”

There was a pause as he decided whether or not to answer her. Finally, he spoke. “Because I intend to make you actually enjoy it, though I guarantee that if you don’t, that even if you continue hating my touch and me until the very end, I will still uphold my end of the deal.”

His answer only created more questions. Why should he want her to enjoy it and to like him? “George, are you… are you in love with me?”

For the first time since they got into the carriage, she looked at him, expecting to see him laid bare for the first time, but all she got was a cruel sneer. “In love with a scullery maid? I think not. I have some self-respect.”

She blushed again and looked down at her lap, though her mind still raced with questions. She didn’t care what he thought of her – she detested the man – and yet his derision made her feel so embarrassed, more than embarrassed, for the first time in years she truly felt the sting of her origins. It was stupid of her to think he would ever see past them.

She spoke next in a small voice. “Why then do you care about my reaction being genuine? Why do you want any of this at all?”

Seemingly sensing her embarrassment, he unexpectedly put his arm around her, and for just a moment she let herself be comforted by his kind gesture and the heat of his body. The stress of the past days had been almost impossible to bear, especially with nobody there to hold her. She had Verity, but there was a difference between the way a friend could hold you and the way a lover could.

“Because,” he began in a low voice, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head, “I plan on putting you in your place. You said that there was no difference between us. Well, I am going to show you the difference.”

She jerked away and stared at him in disgust. “You are vile. You arrogant, delusional bastard!”

He took her arm firmly and spoke in a warning tone. “I wasn’t finished. I said you could speak your mind; I didn’t say you could interrupt me.”

She responded with a grudging silence.

Snaking his arm around her shoulders once more and pushing her towards him so that she was forced to lay her head on his shoulder and press up against him, he continued. “My family rose to gentility through intellect, skill, and hard work, whereas you simply gave your maidenhead. I am a gentleman because I earned it.”

God, how could she have enjoyed his touch, even for a second, even non-sexually? His hold no longer comforted but oppressed her. Their proximity made her skin crawl and her stomach churn.

To her dismay, he still wasn’t done. “The vulgars are dependent on the gentry. They work for us, and in exchange they have security. They should be thankful to us, and they should be respectful of their betters. They should love us and be in awe of us. And so that is how I shall make you feel.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, his mouth so close that she could feel his hot breath on her hair. “You’re going to be desperate for me. You’re going to beg me to fuck you again and again. You’ll adore me and worship me, and you _will_ know your place.”

Then he slowly reached over and grasped her hand, guiding it to his crotch. She was surprised by just how hard it was, how thick, and despite herself she felt a slight tingle of arousal. Of course, it was only the natural arousal that any human might feel in a sexual situation, and in no way reflected her feelings towards George himself, but she was still disgusted with herself.

Just then, the carriage slowed to a stop. They had arrived, and the momentary relief that Demelza felt melted away at the realisation that the worst was yet to come.

George climbed out first and took her by the hand, helping her out of the carriage. He sauntered into the inn with a confident but measured expression and a relaxed posture, as though nothing had been happening in that carriage.

As he led her up the stairs and along the candlelit corridor, Demelza wondered with apprehension what exactly he was planning. Did he really think that his skill could cause her to not only betray her husband in thought as well as body but also to debase herself before him, to truly believe him above her? It was unthinkable. He had ruined Ross’ business ventures time and time again, kept their family struggling to make ends meet and to pay their workers, and now he was responsible for Ross’ imprisonment. She hated him with every fibre of her being.

“Here we are,” he said, pushing open a heavy white door to reveal a surprisingly cosy room. It was lavish, of course – certainly the most expensive room in the inn, but its wood panelled walls and crackling fire gave it a feeling of home. At the foot of the bed and in front of the hearth sat two great leather arm chairs at which George went and sat down.

She went to sit opposite him, but he held his hand up in a stopping motion. “Pour me some port. None for yourself.”

Even when she actually was a servant, Ross had never treated her with such blatant disrespect.  Ross, who actually _was_ a gentleman… She shot George a death glare but, nevertheless, did as she was bid.

He waited patiently, watching her unstop the decanter and pour the liquid into the glass. She felt… exposed, somehow, knowing that his eyes were trained so intently on her and that he was getting sexual pleasure from her servitude. If only he would stop looking at her, stop judging her. In her anxious state, she accidentally lost control of the decanter for a moment and spilled port over the table and even the beautiful printed rug which had probably cost a sum that would make her swoon.

“Oh for God’s sake.” George rolled his eyes.

Unbidden tears sprung to Demelza’s eyes and silently began to roll down her pale cheeks as she bent to mop up the spillage. It was all too much. He was angry with her now. He was going to change his mind, she just knew it, and all because of her clumsiness. She couldn’t bear the thought.

“Just leave it and bring me my drink, if you’re even capable of that.”

She did as she was told, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she was crying. George Warleggan did not deserve to see her vulnerability.

He sipped the port and stared at her for a moment. “Come sit in my lap,” he finally said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she did so almost gratefully, if only because she knew that he was still going to help her, and it was nice, too, not to have to be subjected to his piercing gaze anymore and to know that he was not angry with her.

She buried her head in the velvety material of his coat. It was soft against her wet cheek, and she nuzzled into it slightly. With the sound of the fire crackling, the heat radiating from both it and from George, whose long fingers ever so gently stroked her red curls, she could almost pretend she was at Nampara, and that it was Ross she was cuddling up to…

As if sensing her thoughts, George pulled her head back slightly so that their eyes met, and she was forced to acknowledge his presence. Indeed, she had never been this close to him before, close enough to see the individual pores on his skin, the different shades of brown in his hair, the softness of his lips. He was looking at her lips now too, and without a word he pressed his mouth to hers.

He started the kiss gently, in a restrained way that was very typical of him, but which she found herself enjoying, in spite of everything. It was so different to the urgency and roughness with which Ross always kissed her, as if he could never get enough of her. There was no passion here, but his kiss comforted her, anchored her so that the stress of the day could not tear her asunder.

George shifted so that one arm was wrapped around her waist and the other hand held the back of her head firmly, almost as though it were a baby he was holding, as his tongue slowly invaded her mouth.

To her surprise, Demelza breathed a sigh of pleasure. It felt so good to be held and to have such gentle attentions paid to her. She didn’t want to be betraying Ross like this, much less with George, whom she still hated with her whole being, but she just wanted, _needed_ to forget everything for a while. She needed one night without worrying about Ross, without remembering Julia, a night where she could just lose herself. She had to lie with him anyway, why not enjoy it? There was a difference between letting herself feel sexual pleasure and worshipping George Warleggan, and there was no harm in the former.

George, however, clearly thought he was making headway. He deepened his kiss, pressing her face even closer to his own, as his breathing became heavier.

For her own part, Demelza kissed him back more eagerly too, wrapping her arms around his solid form. God, it did feel so good to be so close to another human body, and as she kissed him, she felt arousal begin to take hold. She wanted him. She wanted his weight on top of her, his warm, hard length thrusting into her, his tongue deeper in her mouth, just _more_ of him.

Abruptly, George pulled away, and Demelza had to restrain the urge to lean back towards him.

“How do you feel?” he breathed, looking with some satisfaction on her flushed face.

“I feel…” she began, suddenly embarrassed. It was stupid to feel embarrassed by her desire when he wanted her just as much, but, all the same, she could not meet his gaze. Wanting him physically meant nothing; it certainly didn’t mean she felt all those things that George was so convinced he was going to _make_ her feel, but confessing her desire still felt like an admission of defeat to some extent.

She felt his slender fingers lift her chin so that she was forced to look him in his cold blue eyes. His expression was at once commanding and inviting. “You know this is part of the deal. Tell me.”

Hesitating a while, she finally spoke. “I want you. My body is aching for you, not because you’re you – I wish you were anyone else, but I need to sate my lust all the same.”

He tilted his head upwards so that he stared down at her imperiously, and as he did, he snaked his hand under her skirts and began ever so lightly to brush his thumb over the lips of her cunt. “And how do you feel about lusting after me, knowing that a mere half hour ago you were repulsed by even the idea of this?”

“Ashamed,” she blurted, no longer thinking about what she said, focusing only on the growing feelings of pleasure and desperation. “I hate you. God, I’m disgusted by the terrible things you said to me earlier and even more so by the fact that I want you in spite of them.”

His fingers began stroking her slick folds, leisurely, as if he was unaware of the effect he was having on her, while he placed his parted lips to her ears. “Keep going. Tell me why you want me,” he whispered, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

A jolt of almost unbearable pleasure shot through her body as he located her clit and began rubbing it lightly but with speed. “Please, I…” She threw her head back, her words her falling away into unintelligible moans.

“Speak,” he commanded without letting up.

“The control you’re exercising over me… it m- it makes me so angry but… but it lets me forget the b- bad. I feel so taken care of... s-so intoxicating…” That was all she was able to get out before her words dissolved into unintelligible moans. Through the fog of arousal in her head, she realised that she hadn’t even known what she was saying was true until she’d said it.

Smirking with satisfaction, he abruptly moved his hands away, leaving Demelza keening for their return and bucking her hips in the vain hope of friction.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

Some of her earlier anger rose in her once more. It was one thing to want him and enjoy the comfort his control offered, but quite another to physically debase herself before him. Still, she had no choice – to refuse would be to condemn her husband to death. She knelt upon the patterned rug, and as she did so he stood in front of her so that she was eye level with his crotch.

“This is where you belong.” And before she had the chance to protest, he wrapped his hands around the back of her head and pushed it against his still clothed crotch.

She tried to cling to her anger, but the feeling of his rock-hard erection against her face and the faint smell of his cock through his breeches made it slip away. She gave a sigh of arousal, revelling in his presence. If only she could stay here forever. George was a terrible person, but none of the misery he had caused her mattered in this moment. She wanted to be under his control for the rest of her life, she thought to herself as she inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of his perfume mixed with that of his cock. Right now, her worries did not matter. The only thing that mattered was pleasure, so why not make it count? Abandoning what little dignity she had left, she began to run her tongue over his breeches frantically, planting kisses as she went along the outline of his length. A low groan from George told her that he was enjoying her attention, and soon he too began to lose a little of his carefully cultivated air of control, thrusting with increased urgency and using his hands to rub her face all over his crotch.

With no little effort on his part, he finally pulled her away, flopping back into the chair and reaching for more port. He sipped it slowly, watching as Demelza shuffled closer and laid her fiery head down on his thigh. “Good girl,” he said softly, eliciting a slight shiver from her.

At the sound of hands fumbling, she looked up and saw George pulling up his shirt and undoing his fall-front. His cock sprang free – hot, hard, and leaking precum. Demelza was already salivating. Without any further encouragement from George, she inched closer and grasped the base, leaning in to offer a tentative lick to the head.

A soft sigh from George told her it was well received. She swirled her tongue once hard around the head before enveloping all that she could comfortably fit in her mouth, beginning to bob up and down as she pumped the base of his cock with her hand. Stroking with tongue and hand, she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the sensation of his skin in her wet mouth, his salty taste, and his whispered utterances of pleasure.

He began to thrust into her mouth as his arousal grew, and eventually his hands grasped the back of her head and pushed down, forcing his whole cock down her throat and nearly causing her to choke in surprise.

She felt so powerless, so used, being forced up and down by his strong hands, his thick cock thrusting in and out of her mouth, and oh… she loved it. It was like suddenly she only existed for his pleasure. Nothing else mattered. Her whole world had narrowed down to George Warleggan.

“You’re mine,” he breathed. “Accept it. You exist to pleasure me in this way, in any way. Embrace the bliss of serving your betters.” His thrusting became more and more erratic, more difficult for Demelza’s throat to take, and just as she thought he would climax, he pulled her from him.

Breathing heavily, she slowly looked up at him. He was flushed, his hair messy, and yet the eyes that met hers were as cold and detached as ever. Whenever she pleasured Ross with her mouth, she felt as though she had bonded with him, that they were more connected than ever before, but now she was confronted with the absolute impossibility of forming any human connection with George and found that the idea comforted her. He was so detached, so above her, and she had no wish to elevate herself to his level. She was safe and happy under his control. Her pleasure was in serving.

“How do you feel?” he asked, and she answered him truthfully, recounting her thoughts exactly with no little embarrassment. “Well then,” he said, his cold stare being replaced with a victorious smirk. “Prove your feelings. Lick my shoes clean.”

It was more demeaning than anything she had imagined he might ask her to do tonight, but mad with lust as she was, she didn't care. She laid on her belly below him, and, glancing up before she began, she saw that he had begun slowly stroking his length.

Demelza attended to her task with zeal, enjoying the smooth leathery taste of his fine shoes, but more so the knowledge of just how thoroughly she was debasing herself, and how much George was enjoying it. There was no doubt in her mind that she was a better person than him, and that was the only thing that counted for anything in life, but letting him have complete power over her and treat her as lesser felt so _good_. She didn’t have to worry about being accepted or about any of the numerous other problems that plagued her life at Nampara; she only had to serve and please and worship George, and as long as she did she would be accepted and loved and taken care of in the way that a pet or a child might be.

He towered above her, so smart and sophisticated and in control, sipping port in his fine armchair. “Don’t forget the soles,” he commanded, sticking his legs out so that she could reach.

Demelza did as he bid, running her tongue along the underside of his shoes. The taste was horrid and bitter, and the dirt of the city made her mouth feel dry and dusty, but she persevered, knowing that her master desired it of her.

“Good girl,” he cooed, and suddenly the taste of his boots didn’t matter anymore. She was his good girl.

“Oh… thank you,” she sighed. The more she licked, the less connected she felt with the rest of the world. Serving George was addictive in a way that she had never felt before, as if the more she submitted to his will, the more she wanted to submit. She was a black hole of desire, impossible to sate.

She looked up at him again, and instead of George Warleggan, her husband’s enemy, she saw George Warleggan – benefactor, master, god – smiling down at her. The arrogance behind the smile was no longer cause for anger. What mattered was that she had pleased him, and joy blossomed in her breast because of it, so much so that she thought that her heart might explode.

In her flurry of emotion, tears came spilling down her cheeks totally unlike those that had come earlier. They were tears of both long-desired contentment and yet at the same time acute frustration.

Tsk-ing in mock sympathy, he withdrew his foot and pulled her up onto his lap once more. “What is it, pet?”

She clung to him fast as if to a ship’s mast amidst a storm. Her head buried in his chest, she said, “I just love you so much. Not real love, or rather… it is real, but it is nothing like the love between lovers. Rather, I feel the most potent mixture of gratitude and adoration towards you, so strong that I cannot contain my emotion in my chest. It’s like it wants to burst out of me.”

His finger crept beneath her chin and angled it up so that their eyes met, and she somehow felt an increase of love when she saw how satisfied he was to be worshipped so and how little he cared for her all the same. She was drunk on lust and whatever else she was feeling, and none of it made sense, but oh she wanted to remain this way forever and ever.

“The more I submit to you, the more I feel I need to and the more I desire you, but the more I desire you, the less satisfied I am, and yet I am happier and more at peace than I have ever been, and I can’t help but weep.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Silly girl,” he murmured. “You feel such happiness and gratitude because you know this is what is natural. It feels so right because this is how things should be.”

Wordlessly, he scooped her up in his arms with surprising ease and carried her over to the bed into whose downy embrace he dropped her. For a moment, he gazed down at her and she up at him, revelling in his powerful stance and the way he towered above her, knowing that any moment he would finally ravish her.

Then he climbed atop her and began slowly to unpin her dress. “It’s amazing how weak-willed you are. I knew I would reduce you to this eventually, but to think that it has only been two hours and you’ve gone from being sickened by the very sight of me to licking my boots and babbling about how much you love me.” Her stays fell away as he pulled out the last of the lacing to reveal her muslin-covered breasts. “It’s pathetic,” he continued, brushing his thumb over her nipple so that she shivered.

He removed only his coat, the rest of him still looking the perfect gentleman apart from his cock, which stuck out majestically from his breeches. “I suppose you can’t help it though. It’s who you are. Now,” he said in a darker voice as he leaned over her and began to tease her entrance, “beg for my cock. Beg for me.”

The sensation of its wet, warm head gently rubbing up and down from her clit to her entrance was all the encouragement she needed. A torrent of words and moans came flooding from her lips. “Oh please, god, please! I need it! _Ohhh_ … I need it so badly! I’d do anything for it and for you! I want you close to me. I want to feel your power as fully as I can. Take me! Please, god, just ravish me!”

His finger pressed against her lips. “Shhh, sweetheart.” And with that, he pushed his cock slow but deep into her.

With a gasp, she threw her head back and her arms around his firm body, relishing the sensation of being stretched and filled.

He did nothing for a moment, giving her body time to adjust to his size, and then he began to thrust in and out and in and out and in and… Demelza smiled and bit her lip in pleasure. It was everything she never knew she’d wanted.

The speed and intensity of his thrusts increased, and as she began to moan and pant, George silenced her by pressing his mouth almost roughly against hers. With his tongue in one hole and his cock in another, Demelza was filled mind, body, and soul with George Warleggan.

Her hands moved down and gripped his buttocks tightly, urging him further into her. The urgent sounds of his panting, his hands grasping the sides of her head, his tongue dominating her mouth, his cock thrusting with ever increasing fervour – all of it sped her pleasure on. She was getting close. Evidently he was too. His mouth broke away from hers with a gasp. He thrust in once more, a deep, hard thrust, and Demelza felt a heat blossoming in her belly. Another thrust, and another, a small exhalation, and then he was done.

He tucked himself back into his breeches and rolled off of Demelza, propping himself up on his elbow to gaze at her.

She basked in the satisfaction of his finish for only a few seconds, until the need for her own became unbearable. Smiling up at his smug face, she moved to pull his leg in between hers, only to be gently held at bay.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, though it was obvious to them both that he knew the answer.

“I assumed-“

He cut her off. “You assume too much. Your satisfaction was never my goal, nor was it ever part of the deal.”

Deflated, she sunk back down on the bed, while he got up and began to undress properly.

She watched him as he set about removing his waistcoat and breeches. He was still so irresistible, and yet now it seemed there was a gulf between them. Somehow she had to resist him no matter how she ached for his touch. She needed him back on top of her, back between her legs, filling her up again.

“And besides, I want you desperate,” he added, sitting back on the bed to remove his stockings.

As he did so, Demelza very tentatively reached out to touch his back, wondering if that was still permissible. When he did not respond, she edged closer and nuzzled her cheek against the cloth of his shirt.

He threw his stockings to the floor carelessly and lay down.

She followed suit and pulled the covers up over them.

Underneath, his hand ghosted over her clit. “You’ll spend the rest of your days lusting after me. You may go back to hating me, but a part of you will always yearn for me. Only I can make you embrace your true self.”

Her hips moved with urgency, trying desperately to achieve the climax she knew he’d never allow.

“You will always be in my thrall,” he whispered in her ear, punctuating every word. Then, just as she knew he would, he took his hand away, leaving her bucking into thin air.

“I am not entirely without mercy, however. You have been a very good girl, so you may sleep in my arms tonight.” His arms encircled her, and she gratefully snuggled up to him, thankful for his warmth. His body was the softest of pillars, still and supportive. He thought nothing of her, but she was safe and taken care of while she was in his embrace. The outside world could not get at her here.

Her gratitude was magnified by the lustful ache in her nether regions, that ache which convinced her that he was the kindest, most merciful, powerful, and attractive man to have ever walked the earth. _He’s right_ , she thought. She would forever desire him, not just for carnal reasons, but because he had the ability to make her feel truly, genuinely safe in a way that nobody else ever had. Life with Ross was a mad dash from one danger to the next, but with George at her side she could simply be. The most she would ever have to worry about was accidentally spilling his drink.

“Will you really never have me again?” She asked in a muffled voice. Even the feel of his now soft cock underneath the thin cotton of his shirt filled her with longing.

He pressed the gentlest of kisses to her head, idly stroking the back of her hair. “Well I have my sights set somewhat higher than _you_ ,” he said derisively, “but I do believe the pleasure of having my enemy’s wife in my power is not yet spent, and besides, you might yet be useful to me.”

The corners of her mouth curled upwards dreamily, and the thought of many more such evenings with George carried her off to a slumber more peaceful than any she could ever recall.


End file.
